


with an 'x'

by sarcasticfishes



Series: a picture worth a thousand words [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Isaac thought he was hilarious giving us a useless heart-shaped rock, I’m not giving him the satisfaction of thinking that he’s funny.”</p><p>“So, instead, you’re regressing to actual stone-age methods of communication. Just so Isaac thinks he’s not funny.”</p><p>“Yep,” Stiles said, coolly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with an 'x'

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #1 of the 1k Words Photo Challenge, which was [THIS](https://31.media.tumblr.com/902dc0bf2cca46925fbd8294fd0f8d39/tumblr_inline_ncehmvFNNa1radf31.jpg) picture.

If there was one thing Stiles would never let Isaac live down, it was the housewarming gift he presented Stiles with, when he and Scott finally moved out of their college dorm and into an apartment together.

“For the happy couple,” Isaac had said, handing over a deceptively heavy little box. Scott had watched with interest as Stiles plucked the lid off the box and peered inside.

“It’s a rock,” he stated, eyes narrowed as Scott reached in and indeed picked out a rather hefty looking, black, heart-shaped _rock_ , “ _Thanks_.”

“It’s like a chalkboard,” Isaac said, shrugging a shoulder, “So you can leave each other love notes when you’re rushing out to class in the morning.”

“Thanks man,” Scott beamed.

“You’re an idiot,” Stiles said.

+

Gag gift or not, the rock _did_ have its uses.

 _‘_ **Milk** _’_ , Stiles wrote on it, leaving it atop the kitchen counter when they had in fact run out of milk. It wasn’t exactly a love note, but he _was_ rushing out to class and it _was_ morning (11:58, whatever), so Isaac could suck it.

When Stiles got back that evening, the rock was still there on the counter, but it now read _‘_ **Milk X** _’_ and – lo and behold – there was a fresh carton of milk in the fridge.

“Scotty, my saviour,” Stiles grinned, getting out a bowl and the Lucky Charms for dinner.

+

“You could just text one another,” Lydia said, eyeing the chalkstone sitting atop the kitchen island, “That thing is … kind of an eyesore.”

Stiles prodded at his stir-fry with a spatula, and sent her a sidelong smirk, “Isaac thought he was hilarious giving us a useless heart-shaped rock, I’m not giving him the satisfaction of thinking that he’s funny.”

“So, instead, you’re regressing to actual stone-age methods of communication. Just so Isaac thinks he’s not funny.”

“Yep,” Stiles said, coolly.

“Sometimes I envy your simple life, Stilinski.”

Stiles flicked a noodle at her.

+

The rock served many purposes, such as shopping lists and to-do lists, perfunctory messages like **your dad called this morning** or **we need ketchup**. Sometimes Stiles even found Scott had left him little notes like **you should get that tattoo** and **have a nice day** or **your hair looks good this length.**

Stiles did a double take at that last message, looking from the rock, to the couch where Scott was lounging, Xbox controller in his hands. Stiles had been grumbling that morning, messing with his hair in his reflection on the door of the oven, pushing it back off his face, thinking about shortening the sides.

He smiled, put an ‘X’ next to the message to signal that he’d seen it and he’d do something about it, and went to join Scott on the sofa.

+

Left wrist wrapped, the skin tingling underneath, Stiles let Scott lead him out to the Jeep. The tattoo wasn’t so bad with Scott taking his pain, but even so, he could still _feel_ the needle piercing his skin – it left him feeling nauseated.

“I did it,” he said, cradling his arm to his chest, taking the bottle of water Scott proffered, and wedging it between his thighs to open it one-handed.

“You did,” Scott grinned, leaning into the Jeep, his arm resting against the roof. “It looks badass.”

“Fuck yeah,” Stiles sighed, lifting his arm. Just barely, he could see the thick black bands through the clear wrap around his wrist, “Badass tattoo for a badass girl.”

From here, Stiles could see the bands of Scott’s own tattoo wrapping around his bicep where it rested against the frame of the Jeep above his head. Maybe it was the lingering effects of Scott’s pain leeching, maybe it was the swell of emotion from thinking about Allison breaking to the surface but – he wanted to touch. He wanted to pull Scott down to him, he wanted-

“Hug me, buddy,” Stiles said, figuring it was the safest option. Scott’s eyes softened, as he ducked into the cab of the jeep and wrapped his arms around Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him in to a deep embrace.

“I can’t believe we got matching tattoos,” Scott chuckled.

“Don’t tell Isaac.”

+

 **Help me cut my hair _._** **X**

**+**

“You could probably pull off a top knot,” Malia said, winding her fingers through Stiles’ hair, twisting it back into a loop at the top. Stiles snorted, swatting her hand away to no avail. “This undercut is a good look on you. Why couldn’t you look like this when we were dating?”

“Excuse me,” Stiles deadpanned, looking across at her, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Malia smirked, “Just seems like you’re trying to impress someone. Pretty-boy haircuts and punky tattoos, hmm? I wonder who would like that…”

“I take it back. I don’t want to see a movie with you. I’m getting off this bus.”

+

The house was empty when Stiles got home Saturday night, weirdly. It wasn’t like neither he or Scott had any social life, because they most definitely did, it was just that Stiles had gotten used to their weekend routine of bad TV and avoiding homework.

 **Date. Don’t wait up,** the chalkstone declared from the kitchen countertop. Stiles frowned and marked it with a jagged **X** , before turning out the lights and climbing the stairs to bed early. He didn’t feel like giving himself the third degree about why he was so upset. It was obvious, anyhow.

+

Scott climbed into Stiles’ bed at around 2am. Stiles was awake – hadn’t slept at all.

“How was your date?” he asked, hating the vulnerable croak in his voice. He’d never been able to hide it from Scott.

Even half hidden in shadow, Scott’s face was an open book, soft and sweet as ever as he bent his head forward until his forehead resting against Stiles’.

“She wasn’t you.”

+

In the morning, the heavy, black, heart-shaped eyesore sat where it always sat on the worktop, and this time it proudly stated; **I love you.**

Stiles smiled as he picked up the chalk, and marked it with an **X _._**

 


End file.
